


Something There That Wasn't There Before

by JulianGreystoke



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Aftermath, Bandage, Battle, Belle the nurse, F/M, Getting to know you, Help, Hurt/Comfort, Wolves, Wounded, beast seriously hurt, chat, fight, heal, injured, scene continued, talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 16:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11490558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulianGreystoke/pseuds/JulianGreystoke
Summary: When The Beast frightens Belle away from the castle he thinks it's what he deserves.  But then he hears the wolves and he knows he must run to her aid.Belle is faced with a dilemma: Leave the critically injured Beast in the snow to die, or help the man she saw in his eyes?A continuation of the wolf attack scene and the subsequent healing scene.





	Something There That Wasn't There Before

**Author's Note:**

> basically I just wanted to read this story and almost no one had written it, so I did. At 1am... would I should have been sleeping.

Something There That Wasn't There Before

She'd run. He'd exploded with rage and fury and she'd run from him. This was how it should be, how it was meant to be. He had never expected her to come into his life and now, just as quickly, she'd left it. It was all he deserved.

Why? Why couldn't he behave like a human for once and simply ask her not to touch the flower? No, he had to become the animal she believed he was, and irreparably snapped whatever tenuous spider thread of trust might have been forming between them. He saw her ride out into the snow and the night and for a moment he stood too broken to move.

“Sir!” It was Lumiere. He hovered in the doorway, flames burning low with dismay.

“What?” The Beast managed, turning his head slightly, an ear pricking in the candle's direction. The man had once been his body servant. Had been there to clothe him, to aid and advise him in all things. Now that elegant, kind man was trapped in a body he didn't deserve.

Lumiere spoke urgently. “It's the girl! She's run away! We reminded her of her promise, but-”

“No. It's... it's alright,” The Beast muttered, casting his blue eyes back to the open balcony, the driving snow and harsh wind whipping what remained of the curtains. “She was right to leave I... It seems I am the monster she feared all along.”

“But Master-” This was Mrs Potts. Reduced from the housekeeper and head of all the servants, only answering to the butler, Cogsworth, to a simple teapot. “She only had a cloak! No warm boots, no gloves! If something goes wrong she'll freeze!”

The Beast flinched, turning his full attention to his staff huddled in the doorway, lit by Lumiere's golden light. “She had her horse she'll-” his words were cut short by a distant sound that made his blood go as cold as blizzard outside. Wolves. He often forgot the damned creatures. Once placid, easy going predators that only stalked deer and elk in his forest, the curse had changed them too. Now they were single minded and vicious, and would murder any they could get their teeth on.

The Beast didn't think. Didn't speak a word. He leaped on all fours towards the door, bounding over the heads of his friends and down the stairs so fast he nearly went sprawling at the bottom. He smashed through the mian doors, causing one of the hinges to surrender and the door to sag sideways, but he didn't notice. Instead he followed the tracks of Belle's horse out into the forest and the bitter night.

~~~~

Belle's cry, when he heard it, was like a beacon and an alarm. He knew the wolves had found her. Her horse had plunged into the frozen river and up onto the bank at the other side. She would have no need of such an ill advised maneuver unless things were desperate indeed. Beast surged through the water, little noticing as the icy fingers of frostbite clawed at him. Baring his teeth he charged on until he saw her. She was on the ground, fighting beside her horse. Of course she wouldn't leave the animal, he thought disjointedly. Belle was kind.

Now she was battling the shadowy wolves with a stick, and she wasn't going to win.

Beast charged into the fray with a roar he knew must make him sound all the more terrifying to the woman he had come to aid. He sent and wolf flying and crouched over Belle, warning the pack away with his eyes, his stance. Any ordinary wolf would have seen the sense of it and run. These charged in and Beast had no option but to do the same.

He was no fighter. Bold and loud as he could be, he'd never used his claws on another creature before. Furniture, certainly, but this was different. He ripped and tore at the wolves as they piled onto him. His fur was thick, his skin tough, but their teeth found holds, ripping his flesh, forcing a fresh roar of pain from his lips. He threw himself wildly at every attacker, dislodging them as best he could. He was drowning now, unable to see anything but his enemy and his need to survive this fight. There were so many and he was clumsy.

Yet, for all his inexperience, he was stronger. He ripped them away from himself like rag dolls to send them crashing into trees and smashing to the frozen earth. He tore one from his back and roared mightily in its face, half in pain, half in rage.

Finally, injured and beaten, the wolves retreated. Beast took in a ragged breath, watching them go. For a moment his heart felt light. He'd done it! He'd won the fight! He was safe... she was. He turned, looking towards Belle. She'd freed her horse and placed the strong animal between herself and the fight. Smart, Beast thought vaguely. The world was starting to swim before his eyes. His wounds cried out and his breathing constricted. He wanted to ask 'are you alright' but all that left him was a small huff of a growl. He tried to take a step, but his legs buckled and he went down, hitting the snow with a hollow 'thump'.

He lay there, cold and hurting, his vision swimming. Perhaps this was how it should end, he thought darkly. She was alright. He'd saved her and she could ride home now and everything would be alright. And he... he would lay here until snow covered him over. Until he bled to death. How long would that take. Something inside told him he would linger for some time, a monster like him.

Then something settled over his shoulders and he flinched, thinking perhaps the wolves had returned. No... someone had thrown a cloak over him. It did little against the cold, but in that moment it felt as though someone had tossed him a lifeline as he drowned in the frozen river.

~~~~~

He was a mess. Matted fur and dark blood. His breathing was growing shallow with shock and he needed to be warmed up, fast. So did she, Belle mused as she crouched beside her strange savior. Something inside her had stirred as she watched him battle the wolves. He hadn't flagged when they had dragged him down, tearing at him with claws and teeth. He was... brave? She would never have thought such a massive creature would have need of courage, but she'd seen it in him that day.

She had meant to leave. Every instinct screamed for her to go. Yet he had looked at her with those blue eyes, those bizarrely human eyes, and there had been such pain. Such a simple pleading. She couldn't leave him. Perhaps it would be best if they both returned to the castle. No good either of them dying of hypothermia, she told herself practically as she crouched, spreading her cloak over his ruined back.

He moved slightly at her touch. Not unconscious then. Good. She looked from the fallen beast to her waiting horse. The animal wouldn't like what she was about to do, but he would have to get over it if The Beast was going to live. “B-Beast?” Belle exhaled the word in a cloud of breath.

He stirred. His head turned and he was looking at her. His eyes were so bright in his dark-furred face that Belle found herself taken aback. She chewed her lip for a moment, wondering how she was going to do this. “I... I can't lift you. I need you to stand for me.”

The Beast lay still for a moment as though he did not understand her words. Perhaps a head wound? She wondered. Then one of his arms came up, tucking itself under him to push himself upright. The other arm joined it and with a grunt of pain The Beast forced himself to a kneeling position.

“Good!” Bellow encouraged, reaching out without thinking to take his thick arm. Both of them stopped, staring at one another for that frozen moment. This was the first time they had touched, truly touched. Belle's first instinct was to draw away, but there was such sudden pain and sadness in his eyes that she did not. Instead she tightened her grip. “Come on. I'll help you.”

The Beast got to his feet, swaying. She could tell he was trying not to put too much of his impressive weight on her as she helped him limp slowly towards the wary horse. With each motion she heard the faint grunt of pain that escaped him. Why had he put himself in such danger for her?

He could not sit astride Philippe so she managed to drape him over the horse's back instead. Philippe was a strong, sturdy animal who could bear the weight well, even if he didn't wish to. He balked and side-stepped, but Belle took his reins firmly. “No. Stand, Philippe. Good boy. You stand!” Her voice had more authority than even she was expecting and she felt a little proud as the horse finally planted his feet, still snorting with displeasure.

Reaching the castle took longer than Belle would have liked. Her feet were freezing in her little shoes and The Beast was still draped in her cloak, but she soldiered on. When the reached the river she was momentarily stalled, but The Beast raised his head. “There's... a bridge,” he managed, his voice tight. “Upriver” He gestured with one dangling arm.

Belle and her strange entourage made their way up the river and soon found the bridge. Then it was just a matter of following the tall, dark spires of the castle she saw peeking over the claw-like branches of the trees. Everything here was so ominous and dead. What if The Beast died? Would it be her fault? He'd come to her rescue, but had it been too much? What became of his castle, his strange servants if he died?

She pushed onward with renewed determination. No one was dying on her watch!

Belle led Philippe directly to the castle's big doors, noting that one hung clumsily on a damaged hinge as she shoved the other open. The cruel wind followed her inside as she led the horse into the entrance hall. He could stay the night in the castle too. It would be good to warm him.

“Master!” A cry went up as the staff rushed forward, concern wrought across all their strange little faces.

“I need warm water and bandages!” Belle instructed and she slid The Beast from Philippe's back. He sagged to the ground and she knew she'd never get him up the stairs. The sitting room was her next best bet. “Help me,” she whispered to The Beast. His muscles tensed and he got to his feet, limping, with her help, towards the room where a fire blazed invitingly.

“In the chair,” Belle urged her charge. He sat with a snarl of pain, huge teeth bared. Belle instinctively drew away, but his face was twisted in obvious agony, so she quickly softened. Gingerly she reached up and slipped her blood stained cloak from his tattered shoulders. Matted fur and the metallic smell of blood greeted her as the staff rushed into the room bearing the items she had asked for.

The Beast seemed to be lost in himself for a moment as Belle prepared the bandages, doing her best to sterilize needle and thread, suspecting the worst of his wounds would need to be stitched. He let out low growling sounds and he bent over a wound on his arm, licking it as a dog might. He was truly beastly in that moment, yet not in a terrifying way as he had been before. She almost felt sorry for him now, hunched in a chair meant for a man, looking more like a lost child.

Once Belle had a warm rag ready she turned back to him. “Here now,” she said in her gentlest, soothing voice. “Don't do that.”

He looked up from his licking, and an expression that might have been embarrassment flashed in his eyes before they hardened, going steely. He pulled his arm away as she moved to press the warm cloth, gently scented with whatever herbs Mrs Potts could find that might aid healing, to the cruel gash.

He snarled at her. She set her jaw. She too was cold and tired and sore and she'd had just about enough of being growled at. “Just hold still,” she urged as she struggled to catch his arm.

When the rag finally found flesh The Beast roared in her face, warm breath bathing her and wiping her hair back. The assembled staff flinched away, but Belle's brows came together. No. That was enough. He'd shouted at her a bullied her for her entire stay in this forsaken castle and she'd had enough.

“THAT HURTS!” He boomed.

If he was going to shout, she would shout too. “IF YOU”D HOLD STILL IT WOULDN”T HURT AS MUCH!”

“If you hadn't have run away, this wouldn't have happened,” he snapped, though his voice was already quieter.

“If you hadn't frightened me I wouldn't have run away!” she countered. There was a heady feeling of defiance coming over her now and she realized she liked it. She was talking back to a monster and dammit if she wasn't holding her own.

The Beast looked fit to roar again, but something stayed him. Pain, perhaps, or maybe it was the logic in her words. Finally he spoke again, his voice a low rumble. “You shouldn't have been in the west wing.”

“Well maybe you should learn to control your temper!”

He stopped. She stopped. For a moment their eyes locked and something like understand passed between them for the first time. His eyes, so human. They trapped her in place and she wondered if he too felt caught in her gaze. Were they, for that moment at least, equals? His power over her had certainly dwindled to nothing now, but perhaps that was only because he was hurt and could barely stand.

Belle raised the rag again, her voice firm. “Now hold still. This might sting a little.” She looked at the jagged marks scored deep into his forearm. Perhaps 'sting' was too tame a word, but he was a beast after all. Certainly he could handle it.

She gingerly rested the rag over the wound, expecting to he shouted at again. Instead he flinched away, making a true sound of pain, no malice laced in. She felt him shudder under her hand and a fresh stab of sympathy passed through her and she began to carefully clean the injury. She had to do something to soften the moment if she could. “By the way... thank you for saving my life.”

He opened his eyes, looking back at her with surprise. He leaned down towards her, though she could see it hurt him. He was letting her work now, resting his arm on the chair so she could tend him with both hands. When he spoke his voice was soft, almost kind. “You're welcome.”

The energy in the room was changed in that moment. He wasn't cowed, she would never say that of him, but he was still. Willing. He moved to aid her as she addressed each of his many wounds in turn. He sat as still as he could, even through the worst gashes that laced his back and shoulders. Some even made Belle grimace.

She had stitched many a dress hem and patches of her father's shirts, but mending flesh was very different. She worked and quickly an efficiently as she could, The Beast's hard muscles tense under her ministrations. He no longer roared or complained, but sometimes let out soft grunts and gripped the chair arms so hard he left deep claw marks. Belle paused in her work on a particularly nasty gash on his shoulder, moving to look him in the eyes. “Are you alright?”

His eyes flicked up to hers, surprise filling them again. “Y-yes,” he said, his voice so soft, so pleasantly human that for a moment she pictured a young man sitting before her, hands clasped in his lap, face drawn with pain.

“Do you need a break?”

“No. You... you can keep going.” 

She could hear the strain in his voice. He'd borne so much, how much more could she ask of him? Yet if any of these wounds became infected she had no idea how he'd fare. She paused. “I think my fingers need a break,” she said, sliding to her knees on the floor, letting out a weary huff.

The Beast sagged in his chair with a little moan. The fire crackled pleasantly and the room had a close, almost companionable feel, though in reality it was quite large. The Beast, such an imposing figure nestled awkwardly in the high backed chair, now seemed almost ordinary to Belle. She took that moment to tidy away a few of the stained bandages and ask Mrs Potts for fresh herb water.

For a long moment she didn't look at The Beast. When she did at last she was startled to see his bright, intelligent eyes watching her. She fumbled, nearly dropping a rag, catching it just in time to make her motion look nearly intentional. Say something, her mind insisted. “I uhm... I never asked you. What is your name?”

The Beast winced, though she wasn't certain if it was from his wounds or her words. He looked away for a moment, as though even he could not remember. Had it been so long since anyone called him anything but 'Master'? “Beast,” he said with a shallow shrug, careful of his stitches. “I'm called Beast.”

“Your mother named you 'Beast'?” Belle cocked an eyebrow. Had he been born like this? All along she thought this castle, this creature, must be some kind of spell, but perhaps she had been wrong. She imagined a furry little baby with the nubs of horns poking through thick locks of hair. It was both alarming and somehow oddly cute.

“I... I can't remember.” Beast lowered his head. “There are... things I can't remember any more. Like my name. Or my mother.”

“You can't remember your mother?” Belle cocked her head, her messy hair falling annoyingly over her brow. She should have tied it up to work, she thought irritably, but she wasn't going to end the conversation to deal with it now.

“No.” The Beast's word the breathy. He winced and pawed at the wound on his shoulder.

“Mrs Potts,” Belle turned to the teacup. “Do you have any willow bark anywhere in reach? He needs something for the pain.” She wished she'd remembered that old remedy sooner. Her mind groped for anything else she could recall from a little midwife's handbook she had borrow some years ago.

“I'll see what I can find,” The teapot dipped her spout determinedly. “Cogsworth, Lumiere, come help me please.”

All three sentient objects marched out of the room like little soldiers. Belle watched them go, eyebrow raised. “What about them? Have they always been like that?” She couldn't imagine what series of events would lead to a living candlestick being born into the world.

“No.” The Beast's voice was more even, though he still pressed a hand to his shoulder. One of the deepest bites was there, clearly troubling him. “They were...we were not-” His words cut off tightly, as though someone had slapped a hand over his mouth. “I am not to speak of it. I must not.” He looked away, but not before Belle caught shame in his eyes.

She frowned, wrinkling her nose. He'd said 'we'. Perhaps he hadn't always been a beast after all. Whatever spell this was, she suspected he wasn't allowed to speak of it. “What about the rose? The one I almost-”

He sat forward, eyes alight with a sudden ferocity, though he did not shout at her again. “You must not touch it! I cannot tell you why.” There was a different hurt on his face now. “She said if I told you... well told anyone, that the spell would be nullified.”

“So it is a spell?”

“Yes.”

“Ahah!” Belle brandished a clean bandage triumphantly. “I knew it! I knew that magic couldn't just be fairy tales.” She looked to The Beast and he was watching her again. Was it her imagination or was there amusement in his eyes this time?

“Fairy Tales?”

“Yes.” She folded her arms. “I like to read. Is that alright with you?”

His brow rose and he raised a paw...(hand?) in placation. “Of course. I didn't know you liked it, that's all.” He hesitated. “I don't know much about you at all actually. I'd... I'd like it very much of you told me.” His eyes were wide now, earnest, like a child's. He looked as though he had just invented the intriguing notion that he might get to know her this way. She might have laughed aloud, but managed to keep herself under control.

So seemingly enamored was The Beast with his new-found idea that she bombarded a midly confused Belle with questions about herself. What was her home like? Her favorite color? Favorite food? What pastimes did she enjoy besides reading?

Belle did her best to answer succinctly as each new question practically tumbled in on the heels of the previous until she held up both hands against the onslaught, laughing. “Alright, alright, stop!” she chortled.

The Beast fell silent, considering her for a moment. “You have a nice laugh.”

She blinked at him. “Thank you.” One odd thing after another with this creature, she mused. Even he didn't quite seem to know what he'd say next.

Mrs Potts and crew returned, looking victorious. The teapot sent one of her little cups forward with a fresh, steaming brew. “I just knew I had some willow bark in the back of the medicine cupboard. I've made a fine tea and some to be added to the heard water for his wounds,” the teapot explained. “Now you drink this all up, Master.”

Only then did The Beast seem to remember his hurts. His hand strayed again to the nasty bite on his shoulder, his eyes losing their interested gleam. Belle was startled to find that she already missed the vibrant person she'd been talking to moments before. How quickly he vanished. She pressed her hands to both thighs, pushing her sore, weary body back to her feet. Perhaps it was time to be serious again. There were still a few injuries yet un-bandaged after all.

Silence reigned for some time. Belle worked and The Beast did his best to sit still and sip his tea without complaint. He only growled a few times, and bared his teeth, which she was steadily coming to understand was all threat and no follow-through.

Finally she was finished. She wiped the back of her red streaked hand across her brow and moved around to the front of the chair again. The Beast sagged, obviously exhausted. His lids were heavy and it seemed difficult for him to stay awake now. Without thinking Belle reached out and lifted his chin, bringing his gaze to hers to check for signs of fever in his eyes. Immediately she jerked her hand away, surprised by her own boldness. Even more shocking was when The Beast too stretched out a hand, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She didn't even flinch. They remained in that position, just a little too close to one another, for a beat. Then Belle stepped back, feeling heat rise to her cheeks for no reason she could fathom.

“Should we... should we try to get you to a bed?” Belle asked.

“I don't usually sleep in a bed these days,” The Beast admitted with what might have been a wry smile. Still, he gamely pushed himself from his chair, only to snarl in pain and collapse back again. He clasped a hand to a gash below his rib teeth bared and eyes squeezed shut.

“Alright,” Belle soothed, hoping he hadn't pulled any stitches. “No stairs tonight.” She cast about for an idea, as though one might be hiding just outside the pleasant ring of firelight. Amazingly, one did come to her. “Mrs. Potts, help me fetch blankets and pillows. We're camping here tonight!”

Soon Belle and her cohorts were setting out a warm nest of blankets at cushions before the fire. They had enlisted the aid of several of the larger pieces of sentient furniture and soon he nest looked good enough for even a prince to lay upon, in Belle's opinion. “There.” She planted her hands on her hips, satisfied.

The Beast eyed the pile curiously. Though he was obviously at the end of his energy a hint of the excited youth that Belle had experienced before bubbled to the surface in him, his eyes shining in the firelight. With Belle's help he eased himself down onto the blankets and soon managed to find something that Belle hoped was a comfortable position.

Once he was settled Belle draped a blanket over the big chair wand tucked herself in, pulling up her legs and wrapping her arms around them. “Madam, wouldn't you like to retire?” The candle-stick man asked in a gentle voice.

“I will,” Belle assured him. “I just want to make sure he gets to sleep alright.”

“Call for me as soon as you need,” Lumiere said, bowing back into the shadows, his own flames burning low as embers.

~~~~~

The Beast woke sometime in the night. Everything hurt. It took him a moment to remember what had happened. Why he ached, muscle and bone. He jerked his head up too fast sending a blade of pain down his spine, which he ignored. She was there. She was still there. Asleep in the chair beside him, her face so beautiful in repose that it hurt more than his wounds. Everything in him screamed that this was impossible. That he must be dreaming. Yet had any of his dreams ever been this acutely painful? He felt the stitches in the wound on his shoulder pull faintly as he shifted in his blanket nest.

He did not dare wake her and spoil this perfect moment. In this place of half-sleep he let himself imagine that it could finally happen. The spell would break and Belle would do the breaking. In this bliss of hopeful possibility The Beast let himself fall back into slumber once more.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this don't forget to leave a comment and also check out my original work here:  
> Phoenix on kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MXE030T
> 
> The print version of Phoenix: https://www.createspace.com/6479739
> 
> Trailer for Phoenix: https://youtu.be/l00Hrn0xAGc
> 
> And keep up to date on my author page here:  
> https://www.facebook.com/Emily-Luebke-Author-283743888311991/timeline/?ref=bookmarks


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